


someone woke up today (but they won't wake up tomorrow)

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Noble? she laughs. I'll tell him you said that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone woke up today (but they won't wake up tomorrow)

  
you forget that, in the dark, we must move closer together in order to see each other.

you were never alone.

\-- _pleasefindthis_

 

 

She presses kisses against his neck, up under her ear, while his heartbeat slows in his chest and his breathing returns to normal.

I have to go, he says, rolling out of bed and reaching for his clothes. He hates the leaving part the most. It always seems so awkward, even when it's not, though he tries not to let it show, stepping into his trousers like it's no big deal at all and not turning away from her when he tugs his shirt back on. He looks at her; she's on her side, reaching for her cigarettes and lighter on the nightstand. He expects her to say something, but she doesn't. She isn't even looking at him. Probably doesn't even care.

Oh, she says when she finally looks up and sees that he's there. See you later, yeah?

Cool.

Don't tell him though, all right?

He grins. What's to tell, love?

She grins too.

You're sort of a shit friend.

Yeah. But that's why it works so well. We can't all be noble people, you know, like, fucking white knights.

Noble? she laughs. I'll tell him you said that.

No you won't. Because that's a compliment.

When she laughs again, she exhales a mouthful of smoke. He watches it drift up towards the ceiling. The afternoon light is coming in through her bedroom window and he thinks for a moment that he might just stay. He's still got to get his shoes on, after all, and he's always up for another shag. But he knows that he can't stay; there'd be too many complications if he did. It's easier if he just goes. So he does, shoving his feet into his trainers and tugging on his jacket. He winks as he leaves and she just chuckles and shakes her head and grounds her fag out in the ashtray on her nightstand.

 

;;

 

When they fuck again, it's different.

It's not playful, not at all. It's rough and angry and sad and desperate and he's still got blood underneath his fingernails. She doesn't come, barely even gets into it, just pulls him to her and holds on and doesn't let go. His own orgasm is weak; it's simply just a means to an end. He pulls out of her with a heavy sigh, but she doesn't let him go even then. It's only after a minute that he realizes his shoulder is wet, and oh, she's _crying_. He's not good with people crying, he never has been; Naomi's easy 'cause she just needs someone who will sit with her and get totally fucked and Emily's easy too, sometimes, just takes a bit of cheering up. But they're lesbians, so he thinks that they may somehow be the exception to the rule.

And anyway, he doesn't know how to handle _this_ sort of sadness, which runs much deeper than a lover's spat or a fight with your mates or even a broken heart. No, this is a kind of long, drawn-out sadness that won't ever really go away. He knows because he feels it too. He wants to cry, but he feels too wound up and tired all at the same time and he just really wants to sleep until he wakes up and everything is back to normal. Back to the way it should be.

Just us, mates. The three fucking Musketeers.

Why? she asks, into his shoulder.

He pulls back, pushes the hair back off her forehead, kisses it. I don't know, he says.

And he doesn't.

 

;;

 

I didn't think you'd come 'round here, she says.

Why not? I had to come and say hello, yeah? It's been a while.

He has this nervous habit where he picks at the grass. It's the worst sort of habit, he thinks, but he keeps at it anyway, just yanking the grass up and breaking it off just before the roots go into the ground. There's a lot of little like, bald patches in Freddie's garden from before they cleaned out the shed and started just staying in there, when they used to sit out in Freddie's garden, passing a spliff back and forth and drinking vodka straight out of the bottle like it was the coolest thing ever and laughing as JJ tried to practice his magic tricks.

I don't know. She sits down next to him. Puts her hand on top of him; he stills, but doesn't look her. Just keeps staring straight ahead. Breathe in, breathe out. There's tears there in the back of his eyes, but he doesn't feel comfortable crying in front of people. Not in front of _her_ anyway and it's stupid because of course she wouldn't think anything of it, would understand, would probably be happy if he _did_ cry in front of her, so that way she wouldn't feel so awkward just doing it all by herself. She sniffs, swipes at her eyes with her free hand.

Really fucking miss him, she says.

He pulls her to him, wraps her arms around her in the tightest hug he can manage. Yeah, I do too.

She kisses him, when they pull apart and it feels a bit wrong to be doing this _here_ of all places, so he stands up, reaching for her hand. Come on, he says. Let's go back to my place.

I didn't know you _had_ a place.

Well, it's not really mine, he admits, with a slight smile. It's more like the lezzas are letting me crash at their place until I can find someplace else to live.

Can't believe they let you call them that, she laughs.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders. Tries to bring back some of that old swagger that he used to have.

They're a whole lot more tolerant now that they're like, married and shit, he tells her. Then, Did you go? To see them get wed and all?

Yeah, they invited me. I couldn't go though.

Why not?

You know, she says, quiet and sad again. Because _she_ was going to be there.

He sighs. She's not bad, really. I went to see her a few times, when I first got back. She's a lot better than she used to be. I don't know how much of it she remembers. Katie was telling me about how like, she has memory loss or something. Repressed memories? Don't know what they call it. To be honest, I wasn't really paying all that much attention when she was talking to me. I was a bit too busy staring at her tits. Fucking mint, they are.

A playful shove. Perv.

Truth, innit, he says.

 

;;

 

Everything's different.

But she's not. She's the same. She tastes the same as she tasted before, when he pushes her up against the wall and pins her hands above her head. She moves the same, when he undoes her jeans and pushes his hands down the front of her knickers and presses two fingers against her. She makes the same small, mewling sounds when he runs his tongue over the curve of her hip, around a nipple, then up and along the inside of her thigh. She tastes the same too and it feels like déjà vu almost when she digs her heels into his back and arches up into his mouth. And when he finally pushes into her, it's slower than last time, but it feels more natural than the first time. He rocks his hips against hers, kisses her, and is glad that at least _one_ thing about his world hasn't changed in his absence.

I'll see you again, yeah? he asks, as she finally sits up to leave, reaching around to clasp her bra back on.

Do you want me to?

He does. He says as much.

Then maybe.

Dressed, she turns to leave. Stops at the door. Looks at him.

I'm glad you're back, Cook, she says.

He smiles. Ignores the heaviness in his heart, reaches for the pack of fags and matches that he nicked from Naomi earlier.

Yeah, he says, lighting up. You and me both, Karen. You and me both.


End file.
